Texan Robert Draper is a journalist's journalist. A former reporter for the highly esteemed Texas Monthly, in recent years he's worked as a reporter for GQ and wrote a good history of Rolling Stone magazine that I read on a summer vacation some 20 years ago. Draper hit the bestseller list five years ago for his account of the Bush presidency, Dead Certain. In his latest book, he shifts his gaze to the legislative branch in the Age of Obama.

Though it has
some important differences – among them a more systematic approach to
documenting its sources – this is a book in the vein of Bob Woodward instant,
insider history. Do Not Ask What Good We
Do (the title comes from a plaintive remark of Founding Father Fisher Ames,
lamenting an era of partisanship and obstructionism that seems mild by
comparison) is an account of a year in the life of the U.S. House of
Representatives. The premise, as Draper explains in the
acknowledgments, is that 2011 was not just any year – it marked the arrival of
the Tea Party to the House in the aftermath of a 2010 midterm
election that put the Republican Party back in the majority. “My intuition was
that as the Republicans’ point of the spear against the administration of
Barack Obama, the House was sure to be relevant, and at the risk of sounding
crass, highly entertaining.”

Draper is
certainly not crass – he’s an empathic observer who tried to be
fair to all sides as he conducted hundreds of interviews with dozens of members
of Congress to write the book – but he’s not exactly entertaining, either. To a
great degree, that’s because he doesn’t have much of a narrative arc to work
with. The House is a process-driven institution, and while there’s an element
of novelty in the arrival of a bloc of 87 newcomers, not all that much happened in 2011. In
large measure, that’s exactly Draper’s point: to depict a government institution
hopelessly gridlocked by factions, even those in the same party, talking past
each other. The Tea Party freshmen sometimes have an appealing idealism, but they seem
surprised and flummoxed to find themselves representing districts of people
(some of them poor, some of them representing large corporate interests) who
actually expect the government to work in ways that defy the hatchet mentality
that got them elected. Conversely, seasoned veterans from Republican Eric
Cantor to Democrat John Dingell are shown exercising levers of power in ways seem competent but not particularly noble,
even when Draper seems to give them the benefit of a doubt. But we kind of already know this story; in one form or another it's been told many times in the mainstream media.

The book is essentially a set of profiles. We get sketches of important players like Minority Leader Nancy
Pelosi along with the newly elected Speaker of the House, John Boehner. Draper
gives significant and recurring space to Majority Whip Kevin McCarthy, subject
of a New York Times Magazine piece last
year that formed the germ of this book. He narrates the tragic shooting of
Arizona Democrat Gabrielle Giffords and the way it deeply troubled even the
most die-hard right-wingers. He also chronicles the rise and fall of Anthony
Wiener, a smart, politically effective, and deeply unlikeable person who had no
goodwill to draw upon when a sexting scandal erupted and ended his political
career. But the heart of the book are the Tea Party freshmen, particularly
media lightning rod Allen West, the sole Republican in the Congressional Black
Caucus. We also get portraits of the likeable, if misguided, Jeff Duncan
of South Carolina as well as the appealingly down-to earth Renee Ellmers of North
Carolina.

The climax of
the book is the debt ceiling fight of last summer, which makes for competent if not
especially riveting reading. One good point that Draper makes here that applies more
generally, however, is his observation that party discipline has declined, in
part because of political pressure to eliminate much-criticized earmarking.
There’s an element of be-careful-what-you-wish-for in such political reforms;
people like Boehner have fewer resources than the Sam Rayburns and Dan
Rostenkowskis once did. Politics may be less corrupt in this respect, but also
less efficient.

One wonders how
much longer books like Do Not Ask What
Good We Do will be published in hardcover form – this genre of political
journalism seems more suited to the e-books of the kind Politico has begun publishing. Whatever form they take, they’ll
remain catnip for political junkies. The rest of us may be more inclined to wait for
the Caro treatment.

About King's Survey

King's Survey is an imaginary high school history class taught by Abraham King, a.k.a. "Mr. K." Though the posts proceed in a loosely chronological fashion, you can drop in on the conversation any time. For more background on this series, see my other site, Conversing History. The opening chapter of "Kings Survey" is directly below.

“The Greatest Catholic Poet of Our Time . . . Is a Guy from the JerseyShore? Yup,” in The Best Catholic Writing 2007, edited by Jim Manney (Chicago: Loyola Press, 2007)

“I’s a Man Now: Gender and African-American Men,” in Divided Houses:Gender and the Civil War, edited by Nina Silber and Catherine Clinton (Oxford University Press, 1992).

THE COMPLETE MARIA CHRONICLES, 2009-2010

Most writing in the vast discourse about American education is analytic and/or prescriptive: It tells. Little of that writing is actually done by active classroom teachers. The Maria Chronicles, like the Felix Chronicles that preceded them (see directly below), takes a different approach: They show. These (very) short stories of moments in the life of the fictional Maria Bradstreet, who teaches U.S. history at Hudson High School, located somewhere in metropolitan New York, dramatize the issues, ironies, and realities of a life in schools. I hope you find them entertaining. And, just maybe, useful, whether you’re a teacher or not.–Jim Cullen